


The Sole Survivor and The Salami Sword

by eletania, MissyXS



Category: Fallout 4, Hancock - Fandom
Genre: Other, Random Rambling, Shameless Smut, Terrible Typing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6197362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eletania/pseuds/eletania, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissyXS/pseuds/MissyXS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The satirical journey of the Sole Survivor and her favorite meat-puppet.</p>
<p>Story and writing by three deranged and smut-starved Ghoulettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Gorgeous Ghoul of Goodneighbor

When the Sole Survivor had first wandered into the town of Goodneighbor, her expectations had not been high. With her easily forgettable child and fully customizable spouse deceased, Sole's backstory read like a third-rate anime cliché and her companion, Preston Garvey, only served to increase the inherent tragedy of her miserable existence with his inability to shut up about settlements that needed her help. If Sole had known that climbing into the "obvious trap" freeze pod would lead her to a future devoid of dubstep and furry porn, she likely would have walked straight into the eager embrace of the atomic bomb.

The town of Goodneighbor itself had a reputation for debauchery and savagery throughout the Commonwealth, which was at the very least, promising. Besides, the overused noir troupe robot-detective had said that there was a memory den where Sole could once again stare at the face of her perfectly crafted spouse and ruminate on the son she'd never been able to conjure up familial attachment with. Indeed, if Shaun ever had a hope in hell of being found , it died the moment Sole witnessed the most handsome man alive step out of the shadows and shank a man. Yes, Hancock was entirely Sole's type: gangly, pockmarked, drug-addled, nose-less and above all else, rotting.

Now, Sole didn't mean to fetishize a whole race of people but there's really no accounting for taste. The feral ghouls that Sole had encountered in the past had been incredibly sexually attractive and she could definitely see the physical element of a potential relationship being superb. However, Sole could also tell that they weren't emotionally mature enough for a stable relationship and also highly doubted that those ghouls could hold down a steady job, which was a real red flag. Mayor Hancock, on the other hand, had a steady career and a varied array of interests ranging from murder to drug-taking. He also dressed in a colonial fashion which pleased the historically-aware necrophiliac. Sole felt deeply aroused as she stared upon Hancock's majesty. He really was the full package. "Man do I want his Han-cock!" she exclaimed.

It's common knowledge that there's nothing more stimulating than watching a prune-faced pinnacle of pulchritudinous perfection stab his symbolically phallic knife into a man attempting to extort you. Murder is, above all, an aphrodisiac. If Sole could have mounted the major's microwaved sausage then and there she would have done so, irrespective of its carcinogenic properties. Hancock's knife was covered in blood like the penis of a horny gentleman who cares little what day of the month it is. He smirked at Sole; perhaps he was aware of the veritable waterfall brewing in his audience's pantaloons. For her part, Sole attempted to keep her tongue firmly inside her mouth as she covertly removed her wedding ring and affected her best "emotionally available" eye contact. Sole now had a mission, a mission more compelling than a missing child or a dead spouse- She was going to have sexual relations with that ghoul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by Genevieve


	2. A Tantalizing Tour of the Town

The charmingly marred mayor greeted Sole with a lipless grin, offering to guide her through the unpredictable streets of Goodneighbor. Well, time to ditch Garvey.

The useless minuteman had unfortunately never acquired a personality and his only purpose was to be the token black man in Sole's otherwise remarkably caucasian group of followers. Fortunately this new sexy raisin man had no skin and she was able to dismiss Garvey without being mistaken for a racist. As she waved him off, Garvey mumbled something monotone and headed back to pace around Sanctuary, hopeful that one day Sole would return to accept another one of his "urgent" missions.

The second largest city in the Commonwealth turned out to be a U-shaped alleyway around the back of The Old State House. There were a couple shops up front, one run by an assaultron and the other by a pleasant ghoul woman who never slept.

Hancock led Sole proudly down the alley, pointing out the only two enterable buildings: The Hotel Rexford and The Memory Den. The den was run by the luxurious lady Irma and the amazing Dr. Amari. Should she ever need medical attention, Amari was the woman to see. The incredible doctor was the best in the Commonwealth, able to heal ailments without an infirmary or even basic medical equipment. Unfortunately she always seemed preoccupied with something on her computer, so the majority of her would-be patients ended up dying in the streets.

Hancock wrapped up the two-minute tour of Goodneighbor as they reached the end of the alley. A drifter was hammering against the town's outer wall in a feeble attempt to appear useful in front of the murderous mayor, but his thought's were elsewhere. Sole was suddenly incredibly horny for the rambunctious rotting man. She lunged at him without hesitation, knocking his precious tricorne from his bald and peeling head. The sight of a particularly warped section of scalp awakened even more of her deranged lust. She slammed her lips against his pruny mouth, licking the twisted flesh with insatiable voracity.

Hancock was, however, a gentleman, so he pushed the ravenous woman back, insisting that he first buy her a drink. When Sole recovered from her necrotic reverie, she relented and followed him down the stairs of The Third Rail. They sat at the bar as a beautiful woman redundantly sang five jazz numbers to entertain the patrons. Hancock was a heavy drinker and ordered a full bottle of whiskey before turning to the crazed necrophiliac for her request. Sole's eyes were firmly glued to his crotch as she sucked back a string of saliva and screamed, "Give me a cock-tail!"

It wasn't long before the concupiscent couple's overwhelming desire forced them to vacate the bar. Hancock's pants had become excruciatingly tight and Sole was struggling not to slide off of her stool. They barely made it inside the State House before locking into a drool-lubed embrace. When they broke free to keep from passing out, they ran up the magnificent spiral staircase to Hancock's living quarters. His bad-ass lesbian bodyguard was mumbling about chess at the top of the stairs where she stood permanent watch. Just like the ghoulish shopkeeper, she never slept.

Sole and Hancock came to a couple of rooms. The first was remarkable in that it was three in one! Two couches made up the "living room" and the "kitchen" was a scanty counter and a few broken stoves against the far wall. His "office" was a simple desk (no chair required) mounted by a barely-used computer.

Across the hall was a surprisingly bedless bedroom, that is unless Hancock felt like collapsing on the broken bedframe by the door. He explained that it was his nightly routine to ingest a variety of chems and alcohol that resulted in a drug-induced coma. Since he preferred to pass out in the living area, the bedroom was of little use.

The delirious dyad crashed into a couch as Sole threw herself at the pruny pirate once more, thrilled to feel his disintegrating flesh against her contradictingly soft skin. Her eyes ignited with maniacal greed as she stared down at the ghoul's bulging trousers. There was no doubt that Sole was gonna jerk his jerky tonight!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by MissyXS


	3. Cosplay costumes are surprisingly complex

Despite that he ran this town and most normal humans (and presumably ghouls) abide by a circadian rhythm sort of clock, somehow the State House and the rest of Goodneighbor never lacked for activity. At all hours, people could be found wandering the streets (even in the event of radiation storms) and the halls of the State House. Drifters, guards, didn't matter, they wandered at all hours of the day, opening doors, repeating the same questionable lines. Sole knew it shouldn't make her so uneasy after months in the wastes, but still.

  
The pruny raisin wasted no time attempting to undress her, though with great difficulty, likely as a result of the chems. His rough not-lips grazed her neck, igniting the necrophiliac urges deep within her. His breath smelled of chems, alcohol, cigarettes, and of a ghoul who might have never properly brushed his teeth in the wastes. _How do any of these folks still have teeth?_ she wondered with a passing thought, considering she hadn't seen any toothpaste in her ventures and she knew her breath likely compared to that of a dragon and the fuzz coating she felt on her teeth were the furthest thing from sexy.

  
It was in this moment Sole realized undressing a man with so many layers who was hopped up on chems would be a challenge she hadn't previously considered, a puzzle harder than lockpicking had been for her when she first emerged from the vault. Hancock had wasted no time on her flannel shirt. After shedding the leather pads that protected her out in the wastes, her outfit was remarkably simple. His, on the other hand, no so much.

  
His red coat was tight, but without being buttoned, it came off with relative ease. She had to do a once-over, considering where to start. She had seen the real John Hancock's outfit enough to know that belt was not part of the shtick. Nor was the flag he wore as a belt. Why did he do that? He had a belt just buckled over his shoulder with no obvious purposed and a flag tied lackadaisically around his waste. It became increasingly obvious, and comical, that his piles of clothes would be larger than her own.

  
The vest and the shirt were easy tasks, revealing a beautifully leather jerky covering of a skeleton. _Damn, that man is thin._ Of course, she had little room to talk. She had been an ideal of beauty prior to the bombs, but the wastes had not allowed much of the feminine curves to remain. Of course, they  _shouldn't have_ allowed the curves to remain. But she worked hard for that ass, and she'd be damned if starvation was going to stop her from keeping it. Stale as they may be, sugar bombs still packed a lot of calories and she scarfed them down at every opportunity.

 

His leathery skin grazed her own and she was quick to assist in removing her bra. Her breath hitched as his fingertips ran down her exposed torso. Suddenly, questions she hadn't considered flooded her mind. Does he have fingerprints? Are ghouls sterile? Even if they usually are, is he different because of how he became a ghoul? What does ghoulification do to his salami sword? The image in her mind caused her to panties to moisten. Sole knew she should be more embarrassed of the dirty panties she bore as he pulled her jeans and boots off, but she reckoned his were hardly in better shape. Being so dirty had only momentarily bothered her post-war, but she suddenly was acutely aware of it again. Few seemed to wash their clothes or themselves to the standards of any pre-war person.

 

Regardless of cleanliness, the pruny dead-looking body before her was all it took to bring her back in the moment, the moment of truly inappropriate sexual relations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 by eletania


End file.
